


Inksolation 3

by notjustmom



Series: Inksolation [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:22:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 5,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24497143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: A collection of stories for June 2020, inspired by a list of prompts created by bluebellofbakerstreet.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Inksolation [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1810603
Comments: 390
Kudos: 88





	1. Interminable

It was intolerable. Simply intolerable. He had no use for traditions of any sort; he had known this would happen, once his mother was informed of their upcoming ‘nuptials’ as she called them when she rang a month earlier.

“Mum, they aren’t ‘nuptials’, we are signing a book in -” He had to hold his phone away from his ear as she shrieked, “William Sherlock Scott....”

And so here he was, waiting for John, who he hadn’t seen in twelve long hours - in front of an altar in front of - he’d lost track after 150 - most were Mycroft’s ‘associates’ - but he did have to admit he rather did enjoy the fact that many of his homeless network were sitting in the same pews as London’s ‘elite’. Moment after interminable moment passed until finally John appeared - and he found it hard to breathe. The tailor had made the most of John’s finer qualities, the color of the waistcoat brought out the gold in his eyes, and he frankly relished the slight smirk that danced on his lips which encouraged him to think of events forthcoming in a few short hours -

“Sherlock?”

“Hmmm?”

“You are supposed to say something.”

Sherlock blinked at him, then at the minister, or whatever they were called these days, then licked his lips and rumbled out, “Right. Yes, yes of course I do.”


	2. Restless

He should be content, but his restless mind wouldn't let him sleep. There was nothing he wished for, he had the 'Work' and now, looking down at John's face, peacefully at rest, he had the one thing he had been lacking, someone who not merely tolerated his existence, but had actually found something within him to love, honour and cherish. That still came as a surprise to him, as he turned his gaze to study the unfamiliar hotel suite, quietly elegant for a 'honeymoon suite', not as garish as it could have been, the wedding gift from Mycroft. He sighed as he realized what was wrong -

"Let's go home after breakfast and a nice soak in that ridiculous tub, seems a shame to waste it," John mumbled beside him, then let out a contented sigh and snuggled closer after Sherlock leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead.


	3. Cozy

Even before Afghanistan, he wasn’t much of a cuddler, and definitely wasn’t a spoon, no matter the size.

But with Sherlock?

From the first night they crashed into bed together, he didn’t feel trapped by the lanky limbs that cradled him carefully, but rather, well, cozy. He snorted quietly as he watched the morning light find the warm auburn highlights in Sherlock’s hair, then kissed the tip of his ridiculous nose and waited.

“Huhmmm?”

“Nothing.”

“Hokay.” Sherlock grunted out then pulled John against his chest and let out what certainly sounded like a purr to John’s ears.

“Ridiculous,” he whispered to himself, but settled into Sherlock’s warmth and went back to sleep.


	4. Devoted

Lestrade wasn’t sure when it had happened, but surely it had happened at some point - John was devoted to Sherlock, perhaps had always been from the very beginning? Or perhaps the thing with the cabbie was just his soldiering instinct taking over for that moment - nahhhh - he shook his head as he watched the two of them muttering over the victim, their heads nearly touching. They had been so careful not to let anyone see, but he had known - even before he knew John’s name, that there was something between them, something that only happens in movies, true love, he snorted, then shrugged. Why not them?

He watched as Sherlock got to his feet, and gave John a look, asking if he were okay without a word, and at a nod walked towards him and was about to begin his monologue, when he paused, and rolled his eyes. “If you must know -”

“Nope, don’t need to know. Not my business. It’s good, that’s all.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him, then offered him a grin, before glancing back at John. “Yeah, yeah it is. Thanks. Now, if you care to explain why we were called in for a measly three, and barely a three at that...?”


	5. Tedious

“John.”

Silence. 

Tedious.

Oh. Damn. He found the thumbs, I was going to move them before he got home. He watched as John closed the fridge, then let his head slowly fall forward until it rested against it, and he let out a shattered breath. Not about the thumbs. Not something I did or didn’t do. What do I do? What do people do. Stupid, you are people, just be a person.

He walked over to John and waited for him to turn towards him, and he slowly tilted towards him, trusting him to catch him. He wrapped his arms around him, and realized he had been holding his breath when John’s arms slowly came up and held onto him tightly, and the air left his lungs as if surprised.

“Just can we do this a little longer?”

“Course, John. Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earlier this week, after two and a half months, a friend of mine stopped by my house. She got out of the car and walked toward my house and paused. I asked her, “Do you mind if I give you a hug?” and she answered, “No.” She walked over to me, and we held onto to each other for at least two minutes, and I finally felt like I could breathe again for the first time since March.


	6. Dark

“No. Don’t go that way - don’t -” John whispered fiercely against Sherlock’s chest.

Sherlock ran his fingers lightly through John’s hair and waited for him to catch his breath before murmuring back, “I won’t, I promise.”

“Stay?” A plea and a command, and again, Sherlock wondered at how little he knew the man he loved so well, at the strength it must take just to close his eyes on the nights he actually slept.

“As long as you want, I’ll stay as long you want.”

“Always. Want you always.”

Sherlock pulled him closer and let out a sigh of relief, before he answered, “Always.”


	7. Sweet

John blinked at the brightness of the mid-morning light, then smiled as Sherlock’s face slowly came into focus. He had always thought there was something sweet in the way Sherlock’s features softened on the rare occasions he managed to catch him completely at rest. He wished he could draw well enough to capture the moment when Sherlock grumbled out, “’m not sweet,” then reached out for him, pulling him close, before settling again.

“Yes, you are,” John whispered against his shoulder. “The sweetest human being I’ve ever known.”


	8. Dangerous

There were days when he had moments of doubt, which were something he had rarely experienced, but then John’s entrance into his life was something he hadn’t ever expected or wanted. Until the day it happened. And then, he wondered, what would happen if cases dried up, if Lestrade no longer requested his help, and John would grow weary of, well, him. He knew John needed the rush that he missed from his Afghanistan days, all the dangerous bits that reminded him he was still alive, and he wasn’t sure if he was enough. He was afraid to ask, certain he didn’t want to know the answer, but wished he could deduce it from the way John was sitting in his chair, paper in his hands, their new rescue dog settled at his feet.

He cleared his throat, then turned his head as John lowered the paper and looked at him curiously. “Bored?”

“Hmm? Me? No, just thinking.”

“About?”

“Case.”

“Nope.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him and waited.

“You solved the case twenty minutes ago.”

“Wasn’t much of one -” Sherlock grumbled, but couldn’t look away.

“You wonder what would happen if I get bored, and you worry I might get bored of you, of this.” John nodded at the flat, then down at the sleeping dog curled contented at his feet. “‘m never bored, I’ve had enough danger for three lifetimes, this, you - it’s, well, more than I ever expected, really. You’ll do me, hmm?” He went back to reading his paper and Sherlock realized breathing wasn’t quite so boring, breathing was quite enough at the moment.


	9. Foggy

He was a little foggy on the details, okay, a lot foggy on the details when he opened his eyes to find John sprawled uncomfortably on the ugliest chair, if you could call it a chair, he’d ever seen in his life.

“There you are. Welcome back,” John muttered, a brief smile lit up his eyes, before they went dark at him. Damn. He knew that look, and knew he should say something, then studied John’s face and thought better of it. “I should lecture you about being an idiot, but I’m not going to do that.”

“No?”

“Nope. I am going to ask you just for one thing, yeah?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Just don’t, do not - on second thought - never mind.”

“John?”

“Just don’t leave me again, yeah?”

“I will do my utmost.”

John snorted and ran his fingers through his hair, then shrugged. “It’ll do,” he whispered, then slipped out of his shoes, walked around the bed and gingerly climbed into it, carefully draping his arm over Sherlock’s hip and soon was snoring against his shoulder.


	10. Fantastic

Sherlock froze as he found a member of his network sitting in front of 221 B, then blinked and refocused as John knelt in front of the shivering figure and spoke quietly to them.

“Hey, Joey, yer safe now, let’s go upstairs and I’ll take a look and get you a cuppa, yeah?”

“Thanks, Doc, wasn’t sure where else to go, then I thought -”

John nodded and helped Joey to their feet, then half carried them up the stairs to the flat, leaving Sherlock staring awestruck for a moment before following behind.

“What you did for Joey - that was fantastic.”

John looked up from his laptop and shrugged. “I’m a doctor, it’s what I do, I didn’t do anything more than what anyone else would have done.” 

“No, John - Joey - they don’t trust many people, most people ignore them, turn away, but what you did today, it reminded me why - you are remarkable, John.”

“You were going to say something else.”

“It’s just, I’m glad you are here, when I - when I was, uhm, between cases before we met - let’s just say, there wasn’t anyone I could go to when I needed help, I’m just -” Sherlock stopped and tried to look away, but John reached for his hand and kissed it lightly.

“I’m here now, yeah?” John replied quietly. “Let’s go to bed, hmm? It’s been a long day.”


	11. Warm

He groaned and looked at the phone in his hand. He should get up, put on the kettle, make a cuppa, perhaps a bit of toast, there was still jam, he thought - maybe? 

But then again.

Sherlock rolled over and even half asleep, plucked said phone from his hand, then tossed it as far as he could, which wasn’t far, but he had made his point abundantly clear. The bed was warm, tea and toast weren’t going anywhere, and it was Thursday besides and storming, so what exactly was the rush?

John snuggled closer to Sherlock’s heat and blew out a breath, then closed his eyes, and it wasn’t long before sleep overtook him once more.


	12. Distracting

John sighed at the last unread third of the book that he knew would probably forever remain unread, then laid it aside and glared at the long feet resting in his lap.

“You do realize how distracting you are,” he grumbled without any trace of heat, simply a statement of fact.

“Dull. I don’t know why you want to read such trite nonsense, I could tell you how it -”

“Don’t you dare,” John growled at him under his breath then laid his hand over Sherlock’s left foot and couldn’t help but grin as he felt him shiver at his touch. “You do have the most -”

“I know they are bizarre looking -” Sherlock huffed and was about to pull way, when John shook his head and began to rub.

“I was going to say, ‘you do have the most beautiful feet I’ve ever seen.’“

“Oh. Well, that’s just silly, John. Feet aren’t - oh, bloody hell - that’s brilliant,” Sherlock mumbled before drifting off to sleep, and John actually managed to finish reading his book for once.


	13. Luxurious

It had been a shit day. Honestly. He didn’t want to talk about it, just wanted a hot shower, maybe a drink, or three, a take away curry, then - oh.

He had pushed open the door to the flat and taken a breath in, and as the scent of rosemary potatoes and whatever else Mrs Hudson had made nearly made him pass out, Sherlock was in front of him, helping him out of his shoes, and removing his rain-soaked jacket. He started to open his mouth to speak, but Sherlock laid a finger on his lips and shook his head. 

“Bath. Go. Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

John rolled his eyes and realized that his receptionist must have phoned to warn him, unless he was, in actuality, a sorcerer, though he wouldn’t put it past him.

“Of course your receptionist phoned me. Now, go. Your bath awaits.”

“Will you join me?” John asked when Sherlock finally removed his finger from his lips. He vaguely recalled a time when Sherlock would beg off, mentioning an experiment that needed seeing to, but the memory was cut short as Sherlock kissed him gently in response, then taking him by both hands walked them to the bathroom, where he was met by the luxurious scents of lavender and vanilla.

Sherlock caught him before he melted to the floor and whispered, “I’ve got you, John, the day’s over, let me take care of you, hmm?”

It was all could do to lean against him and mumble, “Please,” as Sherlock undressed him and helped him into the tub. “Love you.”

“I know, love you, too.”


	14. Conciliatory

“He’s fine. He’ll be just fine, Mycroft,” John muttered and tried to disguise his impatience with the elder Holmes who hadn’t stopped pacing since his arrival hours earlier.

“Yes, I’m quite aware of that fact, Dr. Watson.” Mycroft replied, as he continued his route without pause in front of Sherlock’s private room.

“You know... you don’t have to be here. That is, he doesn’t really expect -”

“All the more reason - you of all people, Dr. Watson. If you believed - apologies.”

“No, I should be the one to apologise, Mycroft. I know him well, as you know, but he has never spoken of what caused the rift between you, though I can hazard a guess or two.”

Mycroft nodded and finally stopped pacing then dropped elegantly into the plastic chair next to John, and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. “You have a sibling.”

“Yes.”

“Do you honestly recall what caused the first disruption of affection?”

After a moment John shook his head. “No. Can’t say for certain.”

“Nor can I, though I’m sure-”

“Mr Holmes? Your brother is asking to see you.” 

He blinked at the nurse who offered him a tight smile. “Are you certain he is asking for me and not Dr Watson.”

“Oh, no, he described you perfectly, sir. No doubt.”

John covered a snort of laughter with a cough and Mycroft slowly got to his feet again. “You will -”

“I’ll call Anthea if you don’t emerge within ten minutes.”

“Thank you, Dr - John.”

“Mycroft.”


	15. Grumpy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of today's 6-3 Supreme Court decision...

It was a Monday, after all, in a sea of Saturdays, and it was definitely a -

“John.”

“Mhmmm?”

“John!”

“What?” He looked over at Sherlock who looked surprised for the third time since they had met. “Sherlock? Are you alright?”

“Look. I thought it was an Onion article, but I checked everywhere -”

“6-3.” The grumpy Monday mood slipped away unnoticed as he turned to look at Sherlock. “They did it. They fucking did it.”

“Should we go grab some dim sum to celebrate?” Sherlock asked with a twinkle in his extraordinary eyes.

“I think there are better ways to celebrate, don’t you?”

“And people think I’m the smart one…” Sherlock muttered as John nudged him from his chair and back to bed.


	16. Inconvenient

As he watched him get up slowly from his chair to take Gladstone out for her evening walk, he recalled the day they met. He hadn’t intended on going out that morning, certainly hadn’t intended to stop for coffee or bumping into Mike - and he only agreed to meet his ‘odd associate’ because frankly he had nothing better to do that day, but until Sherlock looked up, that day, on the whole, had seemed, well, inconvenient. 

He blinked at the fire that was sputtering - raining again, why hadn’t he noticed? Sherlock was already back in his seat, Gladstone curled up in front of the fire again, and he wondered at how easily he lost time these days. He had to look at his watch to remind himself what day it was. They took the paper, but he rarely read it any longer, there was nothing of interest for him there, just people being mostly, well - inconvenient and awful, as he supposed they had always been.

“It’s Tuesday.”

“Hmm. Yes,” Sherlock looked up and studied his face for a moment, before returning to his book. “And tomorrow will be Wednesday.”

“Market day.”

“Uhmhmm.”

“I think I’ll head to bed.”

Sherlock glanced up again and nodded. “Right behind you, just one more chapter.”

“Love you.”

He answered with a grin, as he closed the book and added it to the pile of books that would go unread until winter forced them inside, then got to his feet and walked over to John. He helped him to his feet, then kissed his forehead and whispered, “Love you, too.”


	17. Sorry

“Sorry,” he whispered as John opened his eyes and turned his head to look at him.

“It’s okay.”

“No. It isn’t. We shouldn’t have been there - you shouldn’t - I don’t -”

John rolled his eyes at him and searched his face before asking quietly, “You still don’t understand, even now?”

“John -”

“I was barely existing before I met you, and you have to know by now that I would do anything to keep you safe because I love you, and that’s what people do, at least, what I do at any rate. Maybe it’s because I’m an idiot, who knows. Now get up here and hold me before I fall asleep again.”


	18. Frail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another 'return' bit

t was an average day, until it wasn’t. He woke up as the alarm went off, showered, dressed, put on the kettle - when he heard a sound at the door, or thought he heard a sound. He froze, then listened harder, and there it was again, almost a knock, but not quite. He took a breath, then held it for a moment, and blew it out again slowly, then walked over to the door, and focused on a loose thread on his left sock as he opened it, trying not to hope -

“John.”

The voice cracked as if it hadn’t been used in weeks, and all he could do was reach out and hold onto the frail figure who stood in front of him, then crumple with him as he slowly went to his knees. 

“You’re still here.”

“Yeah, I’m still here.”


	19. Purple

To this day, he wasn’t sure what had prompted him to purchase the aubergine shirt in the first place. But he could still so easily see John’s face in his mind as he arrived home that day after a long shift at the surgery. He had become accustomed to John’s mindless reactions to his work on crime scenes, but for the first time, he saw the flush on his cheeks and the obvious interest in his eyes as they grew improbably darker and he eventually managed to stammer out, “Well, damn. Dinner, let me take you to dinner?”

He had narrowed his eyes at him, and asked quietly, “A date, John?”

John had blinked at him furiously for a moment, then finally drew in a deep breath and let it go as he nodded, “I’d like that - if you don’t have other plans?”

He thought of the experiments he had planned on working on that night, but those thoughts were immediately dismissed as John was standing in front of him, and then he found himself whispering, “We could always order in - I mean - I’m not sure, I’m unfamiliar with the whole dating thing, does it still count, as a date if we don’t leave the flat?”


	20. Secretive

There were days when John would catch Sherlock watching him, no, it was more that he was studying him as if he were more of an intriguing puzzle or crime scene than a human being. 

“What?” He finally asked one dreary afternoon, as he folded the paper he had been reading and put it aside. “If there’s anything you want to ask me, go ahead. I’m an open book.”

Sherlock shook his head at him and cleared his throat before beginning, “No, you’re not. I can tell certain things about you, but I’m guessing you learned early that you were safer if you kept certain things a secret - from your parents, even though your mother guessed, and she told you...”

“She told me it would be better if he never knew - I was fifteen when she realized, that was when she told me she had guessed, anyway, of course I already knew what he thought of -” John picked up the paper again, and shrugged, then put it down once more, as he realized he was using it as protection from the green eyes that were focused on him, and him alone. “I focused on my studies, and got out of there as soon as I could. That’s not what you want to know. Okay. I wrote poetry, had a journal with me, wherever I went, it was small enough so I could hide it -”

“You write still - not just the blog.” Sherlock stated quietly.

“Yeah. I do.” John felt himself blush under the gaze, and watched as Sherlock’s eyes twinkled back at him. “And yeah, it’s all about you, maybe one day, I’ll let you read it. I had stopped writing - stopped until - that morning, the morning after I met you, I went and bought myself a journal, and a decent pen, and sat in a dark corner in a coffee shop, filled up half of the pages. I thought I had forgotten how...” He found himself lost in the memory of that day, not so long ago, and yet it seemed ages since that morning when the words had started tumbling out about the green eyed vision who sat across from him now, and then he found himself standing in front of him and offering him his hand. “Come to bed, and I’ll try not to embarrass either of us too badly.”


	21. Resentful

There were moments when John knew Sherlock didn’t trust him or his feelings, and he wished he knew who had been in his life before that left him insecure - whether it was the parents Sherlock never spoke of or someone else. He never asked, it wasn’t his business - but he had to admit he was a bit resentful that he had to work so hard at times to reassure the man who was watching him curiously at the moment, and he tried to focus on how the colours swirled in his partner’s eyes.

“It’s not you.”

“I know -”

“I’m just accustomed to people leaving, and I know one day -” Sherlock cleared his throat and tried to turn away but John touched his face and he nodded. “One day you will leave, because everyone has before.”

“I won’t. Look at me. Look in my eyes, Sherlock. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

Sherlock studied his face for a moment then smiled uncertainly as a single tear slipped down his cheek. “I know.”


	22. Stuffy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Mystrade...

He had to admit, to most, and yeah, even he, at first, thought Mycroft was a bit stuffy, definitely posh, but once he got to see beyond the facade, he realized he was just a -

“Do not. I am not in the least like a teddy bear.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I am.” Mycroft rolled in his arms and did his best to look dignified, which was difficult at best when covered in bubbles, “most certainly nothing like a teddy bear.” He ran his fingers through his hair and tried to glare at Greg, but even he understood how ridiculous he must look at the moment.

“Yes, you are. You are cuddly and a bit worn in places, and you are dependable, and I love you,” Greg answered with a smile, knowing there was no rebuttal that Mycroft could honestly make, and he sighed happily as Mycroft harrumphed, but settled back into his arms.

“Very well, only for you. I do adore you as well.”

“I might not be as bright as Sherlock, but I did get that part figured some time ago.”

“I just thought I should make it clear, in case there was any doubt.”

Greg hummed then kissed his neck, and chuckled as he felt him relax with a sigh. “Always nice to hear, Myc, always. Now, close your eyes and I’ll tell you a story.”

“A story?”

“Hmm...”

Greg could feel him tense again in his arms, but his natural curiosity took over and he closed his eyes and waited.

“Once upon a time...”

“Seriously?”

“Hush. This is my story, don’t interrupt.”


	23. Cheery

“What is it?” John asked suspiciously as he opened his eyes to a grinning Sherlock.

“What, can’t I just be happy?” his bed mate asked, eyes twinkling merrily.

“You don’t really do ‘happy’ - how many murders are there on the front page, or did you find a way to blow up the microwave without alerting the authorities - what. is. it?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him, but the cheery disposition didn’t leave his sharp features. “It is a beautiful day, nothing hurts, for once, and I just realized how truly fortunate I am that you are here. That’s all.”

John blinked at him for a moment, then sat up and ran his fingers through the tangled mass of curls before kissing him until they both needed to take a breath.

“Sorry,” he whispered against his lips before he kissed him again lightly, then pulled him into his arms and settled back to sleep.


	24. Outmoded

Yes, he was a master of all things Google, and he knew exactly where to find whatever he wanted to know on his phone at any given moment, but if given the chance, he would prefer to sit quietly in an ancient library, where the librarians still shushed noisy patrons and research the old-fashioned way. 

Outmoded? 

Perhaps, but he liked to close his eyes for a moment and imagine himself in a different time, when answers weren’t found so quickly, and knowledge was something that was hard won through actual hours of going through book after book in search of that one missing -

“Hmmm?”

“I asked what you wanted for dinner?”

Sherlock closed the book in his hands and blinked up at John, who was grinning at him in that way he had. He had lost nearly half a day reading - he paused to look at the cover, and realized he had picked up one of John’s ridiculous spy novels and had actually enjoyed it enough - “Dinner.”

“Yeah. Thinking I could just throw something together - we have peas and some leftovers -”

Sherlock nodded, then went back to where he had left off, as he only had a chapter left to go.


	25. Black

“Don’t.”

Sherlock dropped his hand from the curtain and knew the tone in John’s voice meant that it was going to be one of those days when neither of them moved very far from the bedroom. He didn’t ask, the reasons didn’t matter, there was nothing reasonable about it, and he turned off both phones, undressed, then crawled back into bed and waited for John to settle against him. 

Words didn’t help. For now, his presence was enough, and in a few hours, maybe there would be tea and toast, and some crap telly, when they felt like moving. John used to apologise for these days when he wanted, no, he needed to be not of the world, until Sherlock convinced him to stop. He understood, better than John did at times, and wished he could tell him what it meant that he trusted him enough to be the one person he counted on when he needed to disappear.

He wrapped his arms around John and pressed a kiss into his hair, and relaxed as he felt John breathe out a sigh of relief against his chest before he drifted off to sleep again.


	26. Tempting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow forgot to post this yesterday... a bit more Mystrade

It was tempting, Mycroft thought as he sat in the chair next to the bed after he had shaved, showered and dressed for work, and the early morning light made the silver strands in Gregory’s hair sparkle even more than usual. 

“Then don’t go - call in well, or whatever -” Gregory mumbled sleepily at him.

He never called in. It wasn’t something he’d ever considered in the past, never had a reason to before, but that morning, as the deep brown eyes smiled at him, he began to loosen his tie, finally understanding that some habits were made to be broken.


	27. Sulky

He hadn’t truly acknowledged the loneliness before. Yes, he had spent years _alone_ , but until John arrived in his life, he hadn’t ever realized what it meant to feel lonely. When he invited John to share the life he had built for himself, he wasn’t exactly prepared for him to say yes, and then - well, he definitely had no idea what to do with the feelings that somehow invaded - feelings that filled in every hollowed out place that he hadn’t known existed in himself. Feelings were messy, they didn’t fit in neat boxes in his Mind Palace, they sloshed around, bumped into his carefully ordered -

“Home! Got some take away - sorry I’m late. Sherlock?” John switched on the lamp and sighed, “Come on, got extra naan for you.” He placed the bag on the coffee table then knelt next to the couch and waited for Sherlock to roll over to face him. “Tell me you didn’t sulk all day?”

“Not sulking, just missed you.”

“Yeah, missed you too.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him. “Why?”

“Why do I miss you when I’m not here?”

“That was the question.”

John met his glare with a smile that lit up his eyes, “Because I love you, ya idiot.” He ruffled Sherlock’s mess of curls, then slowly got to his feet and was halfway to the kitchen before he realized what he had said. He stopped short and turned back to look at Sherlock who was sitting up, and staring at him. “Didn’t mean to - no, I did, I just - thought you knew.”

Sherlock shook his head, and mumbled, “No. The thought never occurred to me, not really. That sort of thing doesn’t, hasn’t - ever.” He opened the take away bag and sighed, then pulled out the foil wrapped package of naan and opened it. “Still warm.”

“Yeah. Sherlock -”

“Me too. That. What you said. I love you, too.”


	28. ancient

The cottage was ancient, the deed indicated it was built at some point in the 1850s, then added to and upgraded over the decades until it was mostly torn down to the original bare bones and somewhat restored - and he had fallen in love with it, the moment he had crossed the threshold. No internet, there was no longer a need for that - neither of them wished to be connected to the outside world, there was the phone box in the village which would suit should they need it. 

He walked through the kitchen and into the overgrown field, it would take some work, but he had never been afraid of work - there were apple trees, blackberry brambles - he was already muttering about the bees he would have when he felt John’s hand slip into his.

“Perfect, isn’t it?”

“Hmm? Yes, I think it will do. You don’t regret -”

“No, why would I regret anything? It’s time, time for us to have a life.”

Sherlock squeezed his fingers and breathed in the sweet spring air, then looked over at John and nodded. “It’s time.”


	29. Sentimental

“Getting a bit, I don’t know, sentimental, are you, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked, with a bit of a sneer in his voice.

“About?” Sherlock asked, as he stood at the window and studied the people who were running to get out of the sudden downpour - everyone except John who was about to cross the street. The only one with an umbrella. He froze as John looked up at the window at that moment, and lifted a hand. Sherlock placed his hand on the window and smiled back.

“Your doctor.”

“He’s not my doctor. He belongs to himself, and no, sentiment has nothing to do with it.”

“You can’t honestly expect me to believe -”

“What?” Sherlock turned to face his brother and all he could do was smile sadly at him. “Just because you’ve never -”

“I’ve never had feelings, never had my heart broken? Because he will - you know, eventually, either now, or years from now, in one fashion or another -”

“I’m quite willing to take that chance, Mycroft.”

Mycroft turned as he heard John greet Mrs. Hudson, he asked about her hip and discussed the weather for a moment before climbing the stairs. “Common,” he muttered under his breath, then braced himself as John walked through the door and dropped his umbrella in the stand. “Dr Watson.”

“Mycroft. No wars to start, then?” 

“Not at the moment, no.” He narrowed his eyes at the man who appeared to have captured his brother’s heart, and saw not for the first time a flash of humor in the dark blue eyes - perhaps, not so common after all. “I do, however have actual work to do, so if you will excuse me.”

John nodded, and watched as Mycroft gripped his umbrella a bit tighter than usual, then made a quick exit without another word.

“What was that all about then?” He asked as he walked over to Sherlock and greeted him with a kiss.

“Sentiment.”

“Mycroft?”

“Hmm. Stranger things have happened I suppose, hungry?”

“Starving.”


	30. Clear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there hadn't been a fake drugs bust...

“That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done -” John muttered as he collapsed against the wall and began to laugh, like he hadn’t laughed in years.

“You invaded Afghanistan,” Sherlock reminded him, and John looked over at him and it became clear. Clearer than anything -

“Not on my own.”

Sherlock shook his head then reached over and touched his face. “You’re not on your own any longer, John.”

He closed his eyes and whispered, “Sherlock,” and waited for something to interrupt this moment, but nothing did, and the lips he had dreamed of when he fell asleep last night were on his, and his fingers slipped into the sweat drenched curls, and all he could do was hold on.

“Upstairs.”

“Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more stories, as there is a new prompt list for July...


End file.
